


In Three Years Time

by FanWriter



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 12:11:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6906430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanWriter/pseuds/FanWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not exactly a complete story; this was part of a bigger story in my head, but this is just what I was able to write out. Basically, a story of how Mycroft and Molly came to have their children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Three Years Time

**Author's Note:**

> So I was debating on whether to post this or not, because the begining part is kind of a sick idea (although it's coming from Moran so 'sick' is to be expected, I suppose), but I decided to post it anyway after another story I wrote on Wordpad is coming up blank, and I don't want to lose this one, too. Even if it is a weird story, it's the longest one I've ever written, so for that I'm quite proud. I guess you can treat this as a 'choose it yourself adventure'; like I said this isn't complete, it's just the part that I was able to write down, so you can fill in the blanks as you're reading if you want. Also, I know that having three sets of twins is (most likely) impossible. Anyway, as weird as this story is, I appreciate anyone reading it. Thanks.

(Present)

Mycroft woke from his sleep upon hearing the bed sheets rustling beside him. He kept his eyes closed, figuring his wife just needed to use the bathroom. Brows knitting in confusion when he heard the quiet click of the bedroom door, he sat up, fully awake. He pushed back the covers on his own side of the bed, and crept out of the room after her. The lights in all the rooms where still off, and he found her standing next to a window, illuminated by the moonlight. He stood at the threshold of the living room, taking her in, before walking up to her and wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. ''Tell me.''

Molly shivered at his voice in her ear, still deep from sleep and husky. She relaxed back against him and covered his arms with her own. ''I'm fine.'' She knew he didn't believe her, but his silent presence, enfolding her, was patient. ''I just can't believe it's only been three years. Three years ago, today, and yet ... it just feels like a lifetime ago. Thinking about it, condensing it down to such a small amount of time ... it's overwhelming.'' She turned around and buried her face into his chest, breathing in his scent. ''I didn't want to wake you.''

Mycroft gently guided her to the couch, and held her close as she curled up beside him. His eyes glassed over as he thought about the events that had been wrought on the last few years of their lives.

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

(Past)

'' - Jim promised your brother that he would burn the heart out of him. He's dead but somehow, someway, your dear brother survived, his friends survived. Well I won't waste my time. Sherlock was Jim's battle, not mine. No. I'm coming after you Mycroft Holmes, and with my plan - my plan will burn the heart, out of you.''

Mycroft turned the disk over in his fingers, replaying the last words Moran had sent him. Anthea shifted in the chair in front of his desk. ''So,'' he began, ''all we know, is that Dr. Hooper has been abducted. Is to be impregnated with my child, and when that child is born I will be sent another disk of their execution. There's no way to trace where this came from, and we have no location. Literally, nothing to go on to prevent this. I promised my brother that his friends would be safe - that includes Dr. Hooper - and you are telling me, that we have no leads.'' His eyes slowly traveled from the disk to his PA. ''Am I correct?''

''Yes, sir.'' Anthea recrossed her legs for the dozenth time.

Mycroft lowered the disk to his desk and folded his hands in front of him. ''Well, then. I suggest you tell everyone to keep looking.''

Later that evening, sitting in front of the fire, Mycroft snapped the book he'd been attempting to read close. Years ago, when he had just begun his career, he'd had some of his sperm frozen. He had no desire to have a family - and knew his brother felt the same - but knew that someone had to continue the Holmes line. After the appointment, he'd simply put it in the recesses of his mind, more important matters taking precedence. How Moran had found out, and how he'd come up with such a sick plan was beyond Mycroft, and he simply didn't care enough to find out. Dr. Hooper was missing. He'd made a promise to his brother; one he planned to keep. All he had to do was find her.

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

Molly sat numbly in the white room she'd been held prisonor in for the last four months. The room was bare except for a small, hospital-like bed, a toilet, a tub, and sink. The soap and shampoo were on the rim of the tub; toilet paper, toothpaste and tooth brush on the edge of the sink. She stared at the heavy door across from her, waiting for lunch to arrive. There was no clock in the room, but it felt like it was lunch time.

She absent-mindedly rubbed her hands over her protruding belly. A boy. That was all she was told - other than his heritage. Mycroft Holmes. She'd barely even met the man. Twice, and while on those occasions he was courteous, he didn't exactly give out the friendly guy vibe. Of course, she'd heard loads about him from Moran. She knew her captor was trying to psych her out; to make her fidget and have her skin crawl. She knew the things Moran was telling her were most likely lies. That Mycroft couldn't be that ... horrible. Moran would always have dinner with her; telling her more and more how awful Mycroft was, and she was trying her hardest not to believe it. To as soon as Moran left, get the words out of her mind, but he was her only company and in isolation you grab and hold on to what you can get. She shook her head to try to rid herself of all Moran's comments, again. They weren't true anyway, right?

She was wondering about how Mycroft would react to the news for the billionth time when she heard the door open. The guard glared at her, put the tray of food on the floor, and kicked it over with his foot. He sneered at her before slamming and locking the door again.

Molly awkwardly stood from her position on the floor and made her way toward the tray. Roast beef sandwich. When she was done she would set the tray near the door. She'd learned early on that no amount of knocking would bring any sort of attention to her, so she left the tray near the door and thirty minutes later, the guard would take away the tray - she'd also learned early on that after thirty minutes, the tray was taken away whether she was done or not. She sat on the edge of the tub and ate her lunch, dreading Moran's dinner visit.

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

Mycroft stood in the middle of a room, running his eyes along the recently painted walls. He didn't consider himself an optimist, really, but he was confident that Dr. Hooper would be found and when she was he would not shrink his responsibilities. He'd placed most of her things in storage, but decided to let the rent on her apartment go; being the place of her abduction would most likely bring bad memories for her and, considering his job, he wanted his child to live in a place with the top-most security.

The new apartment was actually eight floors above the one he'd previous occupied. Three bedrooms, each with an en suite bathroom. Living room, kitchen, and a closet held a washer and dryer. He had the odd desire to do everything himself, so he'd foregone having people get the neccessary items for him and did it himself. The whole apartment was stock and ready to be lived in, save two rooms. The first was Molly's. He'd painted the walls a bright yellow - which was her favorite color judging by the vast amounts of it he'd come across while packing her things - and added furniture, hanged and folded her clothes and put them away, and placed a few of her creature comforts here and there: books, sentimental trinkets, throw pillows and blankets.

The other unfinished room was the baby's room. Moran had not contacted him since the initial disk had been sent, so while he knew he was having a baby, he didn't know the gender. He'd thought a light mint green would work for the walls. If the baby was a boy, darker greens could be added; a girl, then white or light pastels. A stocked changing table was in one corner of the room, a large crib in the other. He'd mentally debated back and forth between two rocking chairs at the store before asking an employee of about Molly's stature to sit in them and tell him which she thought was best - once decided, the chair had been placed near the window.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Turning around, he lightly grazed his fingers along the wall before flipping off the light, wondering why - if he'd never had the desire to have a family before - he was so eager now.

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

''We're gonna be just fine,'' spoke Molly lightly, stepping over a fallen tree. ''I promise.''

Early yesterday evening, she'd begun having contractions. All the months she'd been hoping and praying someone would find her, to take her and her baby away, had fallen and time was out. A doctor had been called and delivered her baby boy at exactly one in the morning. The doctor didn't even let her hold him; just placed him on the floor a couple of feet away. Before the doctor could leave, however, another contraction hit. The scans never showed a twin - and she now firmly believed her son was protecting his sister, hiding her from view. She wasn't given the chance to hold her daughter either.

When the doctor had left, Molly scooted her way to her children. ''I'm so sorry. So, so sorry.'' Not five minuets later, the door opened, and the guard stepped in; a gun in one hand, and a video camera in the other. He grinned at her. Molly held her breath as he stepped closer, raising the camera, and then the gun, aiming for her son. Knowing this was her only chance, their last chance to get out alive, she grabbed the gun out of the unsuspecting guard's hand, turned, and shot him. She'd lent against the wall aiming for the door and praying for his soul and forgiveness at the same time. After ten minutes of silence, she stood and crept toward the open door and looked out. Silence was all that met her. She went back and picked up both her children, carrying them in one arm to keep her gun hand free. She'd have to thank Greg for teaching her how to shoot, she thought absentmindedly.

Upon stepping from one room to the other, she took a closer look, and her heart leaped for joy when she saw trees through the window. She searched the room, then the guard. There wasn't a cellphone, only a landline and she didn't want to risk that - it could be on a direct link to Moran. Leaving was the only safe option. She opened the door and stepped out, breathing in fresh air for the first time in eight-and-a-half months. After going a safe distance away, she looked back at the two-room shed. Why, she didn't know, she just felt like she had to see the outside after being cooped up inside for so long.

She went deeper into the woods. Walking, and walking, and walking. Thankful now for all the camping trips her father had taken her on, she stayed close to the stream she'd stumbled upon and ate from the non-poisonious berry bushs she'd found. The babies she could breast feed.

At some point during her journey, she'd begun talking aloud. Even if they didn't understand her, it felt good. Stopping for a quick break to rest her legs, she carefully lowered herself to the ground. It occured to her she needed to name her children. Knowing she was having a boy, she'd thought of a few names for him, but had never settled on one. Seeing him now, a completely different name came to mind. ''Ambrose.'' She looked him over carefully. He looked almost exactly like Mycroft - or at least, he looked like how she remembered him. Dark, rich auburn hair graced both of the babies heads, and she was surprised they had so much of it for just having been born. Ambrose had her nose and eyes. He also seemed to have an air of confidence about him; she knew that didn't make sense, but it was the only way to describe the look in his eyes and the small smirk he wore.  
Her daughter, she didn't even have to think twice about. ''Alexandreaanna.'' She'd combinded the two names when she was younger, thinking it was pretty. Her mother disagreed, and told Molly that putting the two a's together wasn't how it should be spelt even if it was a good name. Molly had never really gotten on with her mother. She liked her dad best, and felt immensely better when he'd come to tell her goodnight and that it was a very pretty name, just like Molly. She looked at her daughter, now sleeping, but she could still recall the light blue of her eyes. She looked just like her brother, but with softer features, her small nose twitching in her sleep.

Molly looked back at her son and saw him still staring at her, almost like he was encouraging her. ''We should go, shouldn't we?'' She was positive he winked at her. ''Well let's go,'' she whispered, standing. ''Will be fine. Just fine, and I promise - I won't let your daddy take you away from me.''

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

Greg hung up the phone and held his face in his hands, massaging his temples. It was one of the junior officers who'd called; telling him the new lead was a false one.

When Mike had told him Molly hadn't came into work that morning, he'd headed over to her apartment. When she didn't open the door, he'd let himself in, thinking maybe she was asleep. When he realized the apartment was empty, he was concerned, but not too worried. If anyone deserved the right to just get up and leave for the weekend, it was Molly. Even though it wasn't the weekend. Even though it was out of character. He stood in her living room in deliberation, and decided that invading the privacy of her bedroom was warranted under the circumstances. He checked her closet, and then looked under her bed, and found what he was looking for and hoping against at the same time. Her luggage case. He'd pulled out his phone and filed a missing persons report.

Nine months, one week and three days later, he was still no close to finding her. Molly was one of the few really close friends he had, like a sister, and to not be able to find her, not be able to help her, hurt. He even went as far as to contact Mycroft Holmes - or tried to. The elder Holmes was apparently in Greece on some classified meeting. Anthea had been the one who told him what had really happened to Molly. He asked to see the disk, and she played it for him. She'd gone pale when the part about Sherlock surviving played, but he'd waved her off. ''I know he's alive, so does Stamford. None of it ever made sense to me.'' She'd only been mildly relived.

He glanced at the calendar on his desk. He knew some babies stayed inside the womb longer than the due date, and he was hoping that was the case, but it also meant there was very, very little time left to find them alive. The thought made his stomach churn.

The phone on his desk rang again and he heaved a sigh. He picked up the phone. ''Detective Inspector Lestrade.''

''... Greg ...''

Greg's eyes widen and he nearly dropped the phone. ''Molly.''

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

Anthea's phone vibrated in her pocket. She looked around the room, making sure no one had heard besides her boss. Disgreetly pulling it out, she opened the text from DI Lestrade.

Molly. Found. Ran away. Called. Meeting her. Bringing home.

Keeping her features calm, she pocketed the phone. She looked sideways at Mycroft, wondering what to say. She knew she couldn't do anything now. This was a closed-door, highly important meeting. Telling him would have to wait until they were in the car. Mentally, she started calculating how long it would take them to get back to the hotel and pack, board the jet and fly back to England from Hawaii. She bite back a groan.

The DI continued to text her new details as they came to him, and after the fourth text, she lost focus on the meeting completely and was, as her usual, glued to her phone, texting back. Lestrade had not yet made it to the hospital where Molly was, but he was obviously working his badge over the doctors in charge of Molly's care. Once he'd gotten all the information he could by phone, he assured her he'd be with Molly in two shakes of a lamb's tail - which she took to mean a car ride, a train, another train, and a longer car ride.

She was the first to stand when the meeting was finally over and waited by the door while Mycroft feigned pleasent goodbyes. Normally, when walking she stayed just behind her boss, using him as a guide while she worked from her phone. Now, she matched his long strides, restraining herself to go faster. She opened the door for Mycroft and then slid in behind him.

''She's been found, hasn't she.''

Anthea looked across at Mycroft, staring into those impassive eyes. He wasn't asking her a question. He knew. Important parts first, details later, she thought. ''She's alive. She went into labor at eight months and escaped. She hiked until she was able to flag someone down and call the police. She called Lestrade from there. He should be with her now.''

Silence filled the car as he absorbed what she'd told him. He cleared his throat and said, ''You didn't mention the child. Am I to assume -''

''Fine, sir. Your son is just fine. So is your daughter.''

Mycroft looked over sharply at his PA. His face remained blank, but inside ... he couldn't describe what he felt, really. He just knew he wasn't getting anywhere fast enough. He tapped the glass that separated the back seat from the driver with the tip of his umbrella. ''Forget the hotel. Go straight to the airport.''

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

''Knock, knock,'' Greg said, lightly drumming the pads of his fingers on the opened door. He walked over to Molly and placed her refilled water container beside the bed. As soon as he'd gotten to the hospital, he'd gone straight to Molly's room and got the full story. Then pressed the call-button to get the updated version of her health - he slightly regretted how agressive he'd been with the doctor, but that feeling passed relatively well whenever he looked at Molly. He stared at her and the children for a moment before speaking softly. ''You know, you haven't told me their names yet.''

''Haven't I?'' she asked, still gazing down at the babies in her arms. She couldn't put them down, she found. After a month of carrying them, she couldn't put them down. She'd laid them on her bed for the doctors to examine, but they were right back in her arms again after. ''The boy is Ambrose; the girl is Alexandreaanna.''

''Beautiful - and handsome,'' he added hastily to Ambrose. ''Sorry, kid, but your gonna get called beautiful for awhile. I'll try to remember myself.'' He flicked his eyes to Alexandreanna. ''You, I can call beautiful.'' He sat back and stared at the three of them and smiled. He glanced at his watch. ''Mycroft should be here soon -''

Molly panicked. ''Greg, no, no - he can't, he can't -''

''Shhh, it's okay, alright.'' He put one arm around Molly's shoulder and the other helped her support the children. After she'd calmed down, he gently asked why she didn't want Mycroft here.

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

Giving honor to his name, Greg sat in the chair next to Molly's bed, watching her sleep. He turned to look at the babies to his left and wonder what to do. Mycroft would be here soon; what was he going to tell him. His phone beeped an incoming text from Anthea: they were here. Greg got up silently and closed the door behind them. He waited with dread in his stomach, staring at the elevator doors at the end of the hall. When they opened, he could see Mycroft appraising him and slowed his steps, making the hallway seem impossibly longer. ''I ... would've texted, but ... it didn't seem like the kinda thing to do on the phone.''

''What?'' Mycroft voice was clipped, impatience starting to seep through his steel persona.

Greg took a deep breath. ''To get to the point of the matter, Molly's afraid you'll take the kids away from her, not let her see them, be mean and distant and cold to them. Moran put a lot of things in her head; a lot of bad things. Took me an hour and a half just to calm her down. She's sleeping now. Mycroft, I told her that everything Moran said was a lie, I defended you, I did all I could. I asked her to give you a chance, but if you want things to be how you imagined - you're gonna have to prove to her that you'll be a good dad, and that you see those kids as hers just as much as yours. You can't be Mr. Government Man around her. I know you and Sherlock have this, way of manipulating people into doing what you want, but if for one second, she thinks you aren't being sincere -''

Mycroft was silent. It never occured to him that once they were found, he wouldn't get to see them, be around them. He felt his chest tighten as he stared unblinkingly at the closed door, trying to discern this new feeling and weighing his options. He could go in right now; be with his children and hold them. He also knew a mother's instincts and when Molly woke up to the sight ... He sighed. ''What do you propose?''

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

Greg sat in a booth at the back of the restaurant, slidding his glass back and forth between his hands. He looked up everytime he heard the bell, and, four dings later, he saw a familiar face walk in. He raised his hand to get the waiters attention before greeting Anthea. ''You again. You know, this is the third time Mycroft has sent you in his place. I'm not sure whether to offended by him, or flattered by your presence.''

Anthea got comfortable, and looked across at Greg, phone in her pocket. ''He's busy -''

''He can make time.''

''- attending a meeting of the upmost importance -''

''Yeah, no one's ever used that excuss before.''

''- with the Queen,'' she finished.

''Well, then, I suppose all the flattery goes to her,'' he quipped. He bowed his head frowning. ''I know this is hard for him.''

''He can't find her. He's never failed before. He's starting to doubt himself, too; taking extra time to triple check his work. He's not eating much, and if he was a workaholic before, he's overdosing now.''

''I know he may not think it, but sometimes talking really does help.''

''He's staying at the Diogenes. He hasn't been to the new apartment since he finished it.''

Greg reached over and took her hand. ''I know you're worried about him. I am, too.''

''I've never seen his eyes so vacant before,'' she was talking more to herself now. ''I used to be able to see the cogs turning, non-stop. Now -''

''We will find her.'' He made sure their eyes met and said it firmly in his most confidnet voice.

''How can you be so sure?''

''Faith.'' They were silent for a few minutes. Greg stared at his hand that was gently thumbing Anthea's; twining their fingers together, he gave a light squeeze. ''I don't have any promising leads, and from the long face you don't either. Let's just try to put this out of our minds for one moment and have an enjoyable lunch. It's on me.''

Lunch was ordered and eaten, with silence being the main company. After, Anthea said she needed to be getting back, and Greg's phone had rang twice in the short time. They put their coats on outside under the awning, safe from the awaiting downpour. Greg took in her appearance and was glad he'd gotten her to eat something. True, she didn't know Molly at all, but he figured not being able to find her was causing her to doubt herself as well, and being the closest to Mycroft, seeing him breaking on the inside wasn't helping either.

A waiter came out and handed Anthea a take-away bag. She lifted the bag as if in explanation to Greg. ''I should get this to Mycroft; with any luck, he'll eat it.'' She stood stiffly in Greg's arms when he wrapped them around her, giving her a hug. She relaxed a bit, putting her cheek on his chest and breathed in the notes of his aftershave. He whispered in her ear that everything would be okay, to take care of herself, and he would see her again soon for their next 'update' meeting. He'd started to pull away, but she stopped him with a hand on his side. They stared into the others eyes, and she wondered how time could go so slow and fast all at once. His eyes glanced down to her lips and back up, asking for permission. She had to stand on her toes and put more pressure on his side to keep her balance, but she tilted her head slightly and waited. London bustled around the pair, moving and not sensing the shift that had been made between the two. Time being completely lost to both of them.

Mycroft sat in his office, staring blankly at the computer screen. He should have been internally celebrating his victory, not that he would ever let it be found he was playing Cupid, but at least, one of them could be happy.

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

Mycroft lay in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. Greg's idea was for him to stay at the new apartment with Molly, to let her get settled in her new home. Mycroft stayed at the Diogenes for a week longer until step two could go in place. Step two, was to integrate Mycroft into her life, and get her to the point where she wasn't constantly afraid of his presence; that bit had taken longer than he'd hoped. A month. One whole month was the time it took him to break down her walls. Not that she still wasn't overly cautious when he was around, but she had stopped shaking and crying around him, so it was progress. He was true to his word, he didn't manipulate her - but that wasn't to say he didn't use psychology to his advantage on some degree.

Things were starting to go back to normal, though - or, from now on, what would become their normal. Greg had talked and explained things to Stamford, and Molly had her old job back. Stamford had held it for her; he, like Greg, didn't believe Sherlock was dead and knew that when the consulting detective came back to London, Molly would be the only person he would work with - and she would be the only one to be able to tolerate him. Ambrose and Alexandriaanna went to work with her. She'd come a long way with Mycroft but she still didn't want either of them out of her sight. Stamford had said that as long as they stayed in her office, he would make the exception for her. It had earned Mycroft some brownie points when, on her first day back, he gave her a baby monitor and camera to keep at the morgue so she could watch them from the next room. He didn't tell her that he had access to the camera as well. Nor, did he tell her she was under constant surveillance, or that the taxi she begun going to and from in was manned by an undercover operatives.

That had been an awkward moment, he mused. Changing her status. She'd been on very minimal surveillance because Sherlock was his brother. He remembered staring at the papers on his desk for a while, considering. She was being watched after because of him now, but he didn't quite know how to define their relationship for the forms. They weren't married, engaged, or dating. Friends - not quite. Eventually, he marked the 'other' option and wrote in the margine 'mother of my children'. Word, of course, spread quickly at work and he was receiving congratulations left and right. Questions desguised as statements, such as 'I didn't know you were seeing anyone', were met with a blank stare, a feigned-polite smile, and the view of his posterior as he walked away.

Mycroft sighed, flipping over onto his side and willing himself to sleep. He reached over to his nightstand and picked up his phone, turning it on to view the children as they slept. He zoomed the image closer. Originally, there had only been the one crib, not knowing that Molly was having twins. Greg suggested simply attaching some bars in the middle; the crib was big enough for the both of them and Molly would want to keep them close together. Mycroft observed them alternately back and forth. On the third flick of his eye, his son was still asleep, but when his gaze shifted to his daughter, he was startled to see her looking directly at the camera. It was almost as if she knew he was watching, and he recognized the blue-eyed stare as his own, more specifically the one he used to nonverbably tell people to leave him alone. He turned off his phone and waited five minutes. Turning it back on, he found her back asleep, or was until her eyes blinked back opened and her tiny glared seem to intensify. He shut off the camera and smiled to himself. He'd thought Sherlock had been difficult to watch over; now, he had two mini versions of himself.

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

Mycroft held Alexandriaanna in his arms, staring at her in awe and wonder. Today, was their fourth month mark of life. Molly had just finished feeding her, when she nervously looked at Mycroft and said the first words she'd spoken to him: 'do ... do you want to - to hold her?' He knew he couldn't keep his impassive mask on when he was with her, but her couldn't let her sense his anxiousness, either. This was the first time he would get to hold either of them, and he was suddenly filled with a fear that if he did the slightest thing wrong, he would never be able to again. He made slow movements toward Molly and raised his arms slightly. He counted, two minutes and forty-seven seconds was the time it took for her to place his daughter in his arms. He felt his chest cave in as the breath left him and he cradled her close. Sitting on the floor in front of Molly, he carefully started swaying from side to side. This moment would forever be seared into his mind. The weight of his daughter, her scent, the smoothness of her cheek, and the surprisenly strong grip of her little hand as it grabbed his finger. He looked up hesistantly when he saw Molly come toward him, and he felt his stomach drop. Knowing he had to do this on Molly's terms, he let go of his daughter and slipped her into her mother's arms.

His throat tightened as he watched the three of them, and he couldn't ever recall having felt this excluded. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths. The tight reign he'd had over his emotions for all these years had started to unravel, at least, at home. He held his breath again as he sensed Molly coming closer. He opened his eyes to see her, sifting from foot to foot, holding Ambrose. Swallowing, he held his arms out again, and repeated the process of memorizing every feature. It was official, he thought, his emotions over his children were no longer in his control. He didn't think it possible that his heart could physically feel as if it were constricting into a tight ball and melt at the same time. All to soon, Molly held her arms out again, but this time when she sat down, he scooted a little closer to her. Looking down upon his children, he began humming. He made a slow, deliberate movement to stroke their faces, and Molly tentatively allowed it. Together, the four of them sat for the rest of the afternoon and into the beginnings of evening.

Caring was not an advantage, but it felt wonderful; and it still rang true that all hearts were broken, but what a beautiful breaking it was.

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

Mycroft examined a row of gold chains that the woman behind the counter had set out for him. He very rarely went into a jewelry store, usually only to get Anthea something for Christmas. Since the holiday had become so commercialized, giving her a gift as a token of appreciation didn't seem as personal as a birthday gift would. He always got her earrings, because that also seemed more impersonal. Today, however, he wasn't shopping for Anthea, he was shopping for Molly.

He'd been in a meeting earlier, and while everyone was waiting for the last remaining men to show up, conversation turned to their wives. Mycroft had went over his notes as a way of distraction, but his multitasking brain had picked up every word about their complaining wives. Apparently, they were just run thin and so tired - even though each of those women had at the least three maids. The words still filled his head as the other men droned on about debutante hosting and social gathering planning, but his mind went somewhere else.

Ever since Molly had moved in, she'd done all the housework, the cooking, and kept a constant watch over their two children while working a full time job. Not that that was how he imagined things, but after the event with the laundry, he was hesistant about offering any help. After the first night they both spent the at the apartment together, he'd received a call from his dry cleaners: A woman had gone to pick up his dirty clothes and the woman who opened the door said she'd already done the laundry and that she seemed extremely upset. He found Molly sobbing in the corner of the room, sputtering things like 'sorry' and 'shouldn't have' and 'without permission'. He realized that in her mind, if everything wasn't just so-so, he would take the kids. After much effort of trying to make himself appear less threatning, he reassured her that he would never do such a thing. When Greg arrived from work, he was able to smooth things over the rest of the way. Granted, she still kept doing all the chores, but Mycroft saw the shift from her feeling forced to, to her being content with keeping house and, oddly enough, seemingly enjoying it.

Gazing critically over the necklace selections, he chose a gold chain, delicate but durable, and told the clerk to attach the two emerald birthstones he'd already picked out. He paid for his purchase and left the store, hoping Molly would like it.

When he entered the apartment, he heard her in the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the room. ''Molly,'' he said, gaining her attention. ''I have something I would like for you to have.'' He quickly continued when her saw her start, knowing she still had the remenants of fear of being indebted to him. ''It's a gift; no strings attached. I don't want to hear that it's too much, that I shouldn't have, or anything of the sort. This gift is simply a token of my appreciation of all that you have done.'' He sat the box down on the table and opened it. Pulling out the necklace, he started to step behind her to put it on, but, seeing her tense, stood in front of her instead, toe to toe, and gently fastened it around her neck. He stepped back, and they were both silent for a moment. ''I have some work I need to finish. If you need me, I'll be in my room.'' Out of the corner of his eye as he left, he could see Molly still rooted to the spot, her fingertips running over the chain.

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

Mycroft had been in a meeting when his phone vibrated. It was specific, having personalized it to only send out that vibe when Greg called him; since Greg always used text messaging, a call meant something was wrong. It was something the two of them had set up when they first started taking care of Molly. Mycroft sat through the rest of the meeting, wracking his brain trying to figure out what was wrong; Molly had been fine lately. He was able to hold the children of his own free will without her worry, sudden movements or noises didn't frighten her as badly; it felt like he'd finally won her trust, even if she was still shy. Last night he was even able to dance with her - which was still done with caution, but she did finish the song with him. When the meeting was over, he hurried out of the room as quickly as he could without attracting attention.

Greg had left a voicemail, telling him he was at the hospital and that Molly had been admitted for overnight care. Mycroft was in the elevator, replaying the message for the twelveth time, trying to deduce exactly what was wrong. He stepped out when the elevator doors dinged open, and saw Greg leaning against the wall just past the nurses station, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Greg turned his head, sensing he was being stared at, and pushed off the wall as Mycroft came up to him. He gave an answer before anything could be asked. ''She was attacked,'' he said tonelessly. ''I think you can grasp my full meaning.'' Greg sighed deeply. ''She was in the stairwell, walking down to get lunch, when ... I'm just thankful - I mean, if there's a silver lining in any of this, it's that the kids weren't with her. She'd left them in her office for their nap. They're already starting to understand and figure out things, even if the can't talk, and I wouldn't want them to remember this. Even still - they know something's wrong. I brought them up here to be with her.'' He shook his head, and rubbed his hands down his face. ''All the test have been run. Unknown male. No traces of DNA. Molly said he was wearing a mask. I asked her just enough to make a report; I got a hold of Anthea and she said she'd look into to it further - which in Anthea speak, I'm pretty sure she's already dealt with the guy.'' He turned to look at the closed door behind him. ''She's not asleep but - she's not exactly responsive either.''

Mycroft kept his facial movements controled as his insides boiled with anger. ''Why are they keeping her?'' he asked in a clipped voice.

''Strangulation. There's some pretty bad bruises around her neck. They want to make sure the bruising doesn't swell further and choke her.''

Both men were silent for a while. Mycroft broke the silence first. ''Is she pregnant?''

''No.''

''Are they positive?''

Greg looked at him curiously. ''Yes.''

Mycroft nodded. ''Then when the doctor comes back around, tell him I want him to prescribe her a bottle of a strong sedative. She's going to have nightmares; she'll need something to help her sleep.''

Greg hummed in understanding. ''Got it.''

Mycroft moved past him and pushed open the door, knocking lightly as he entered. The twins were, thankfully, sleeping in the corner of the room, right next to Molly's bed. Molly was sat up in the bed, knees pulled up to her chest. As he got closer, he saw her holding an evidence bag. Inside the bag was the necklace he had given her. He could tell that the necklace was broken, the two little emerald stones off the chain and near the bottom corner of the bag.

''He broke it,'' she sniffed. ''He broke it.'' Suddenly, the shock wore off and she started sobbing uncontrolably.

Mycroft sat down on the edge of the bed and carefully wrapped her in his arms.

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

Mycroft woke with a jolt, hearing Molly's cry from his bedroom. He'd thought that the sedatives would help her get some sleep. Instead, it just seemed to prolong the nightmares that she was having. Some nights he would wake to her scream, other nights it was to her muffled sobs - and it was only getting worse. He rolled his head to look at the clock: 12:47; she'd been asleep for barely two hours since the last dream.

He sat up in bed and weighed his options. He'd been doing some research online, even joined in on a few discussions. His mind reeled out pros and cons, and he was hesitant on the option he thought would have a higher percentage of success. Underneath his door, he could see Molly's shadow creep along and heard her light footsteps in the kitchen. He listened intently as the faucet turned on and water pooled into a glass. He waited, but no other sound was heard. Getting up, he put his slippers on and opened the door.

She was still standing at the sink when he saw her, her hand draped over the bruises on her neck. He could hear quiet hiccups as she drank the water; half of it already gone. He watched her carefully, waiting to see if there would be some cue that would be his deciding factor in what he'd researched. He was about to sneak back to his room when he saw it; a slight tremble. The tremble turned into a shake, and he was at her side when the shake erupted throughout her entire body. Carefully wrapping his hand over hers, he took the glass of water from her hand and set it down. Holding her tightly, he let her cry.

When the majority of her shaking had stopped, he pulled back, making sure his features were arranged into a look of reassurance. He raised his hand and wiped the tears off her cheeks. In a light caress, he trailed his hand down her cheek, her arm, and gently clasped her hand in his, intertwining their fingers. He gave a slight tug, and was grateful he was met with no resistance as he led her the the bedrooms. He started to move into his bedroom, still holding her hand, when she stopped in confusion. Turning around to face her, he took both her hands in his and gave a little tug. He knew that this had to happen in his room; that she needed to feel that her room was solely hers. Guiding her into the room, he sat the both of them down on the edge of the bed, him facing her. He brought up their adjoined hands and, one at a time, took her hands and wrapped her fingers around his wrists. He could still see the confussion in her eyes, and swallowed before he spoke. ''Show me,'' he whispered. Placing both of his hands on her cheeks, he grazed the tips of his fingers softly down to her neck, tracing the bruise, before resting his hands on her shoulders. ''Show me where he touched you.''

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

Greg uneasily walked down to the Bart's morgue. 'Listen to you gut.' That's what he always told the people he worked with, and right now, his gut was telling him something. To someone who didn't know him, they would say he seemed to be without a care in the world. To the well-trained eye and those who did know him, he was on edge. Eyes darting about, looking into windows, behind doors, glancing into the mirrors that hung from the corner of the ceiling to check his six. He kept one hand in his pants pocket, clutching a knife; he was good with a gun, but he considered a knife his best weapon of defense.

When he got to the morgue, he thought he'd just have a quick look around before heading to Molly's office about the body he'd found last night. Taking in as much as he could through the small window on the door, he silently turned the knob and stepped inside. All was clear except for his John Doe, still on the table. He stared at the body. Techniquely, I did belong in the morgue, but for some reason, it felt as if the body was the only thing out of place in the room. That's when he noticed the stiches; he knew Molly would never leave them half-done. Keeping one hand on his knife, he pulled out his gun with his other hand. He slowly made his way over to the body, matching his breathing with his footsteps. Something caught his eye as he rounded the corner of the table. Blood.

''Molly!'' He made quick work of checking the rest of the room and locking the doors before going back to the unconscious pathologist. ''Molly, can you hear me? Molly.'' He pulled out his phone and called for assistance while checking her pulse. It was faint, but it was there. Greg's eyes were frantic as he looked for a wound, to stop the bleeding. Nothing. He couldn't turn her over; she might have an injured spine. He took Molly's hand in his and talked. ''If you can hear me it's going to be okay Molly. Alright. Just hold on. Hold on.'' He wasn't sure who he was trying to convice so earnestly.

 

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

Mycroft impatiently wrung his umbrella. He felt like shooting the bell that made the dinging sound everytime the elevator stopped on a floor. This felt just like de ja vu: riding the elevator up through Bart's, stopping on the floor Molly would be on. Six months; that's how long it had been since he'd been here last, but it felt like yesterday. Why was he always in a meeting when something happened, he chastised himself.

The doors opened, and he saw Greg waiting, again, out in the hall for him. Mycroft notice he looked pensive, like he was thinking really hard about something. He leaned against his umbrella and waited for the detective to speak.

Greg blinked as he became aware of his surroundings; he turned his head slightly in Mycroft's direction. ''Emergency C-section - she almost miscarried.'' Greg paused a moment before continuing. ''Twins again, boy and girl. The girl is fine but the boy ...'' he cleared his throat, ''the doctors aren't sure if he'll make it. He's flatlined twice already.''

Mycroft's knuckles turned white and he felt the wood handle begin to crack under his fingers. She was pregnant? How could he not have know she was pregnant? There hadn't even been any signs. Sure, she'd been eating slightly more than usual, but he'd just thought that her appetite had finally come back. He turned and walked into a nearby waiting room and sat down in a chair. ''You said the doctors were sure that she was not pregnant - that's why I asked for the sedative.'' He would lay the blame on himself forever if the drug had caused this. He did the figuring in his head: born at six months, possible exposure to strong medication, no prenatal vitamins - no clue Molly had been pregnant - and one baby in critical condiiton. He hung his head in his hands, only to look up sharply. ''How's Molly taking this?''

Greg sat down heavily next to him. ''She came to briefly after the doctors got the boy stable the first time. I explained it the best I could, but she was really out of it and I'd barely finished telling her when she was out again. Stamford's with Ambrose and Alexandrianna.'' Both men were silent, each lost in their own thoughts. ''You know,'' Greg began, ''I had Anthea give me a report on Molly's attacker. Blondest hair I've ever seen.'' His eyes shifted to look at Mycroft through his peripheral vision. ''I had her check his relatives, and Molly's relatives ... those babies in the NICU didn't get that red hair from either of them. Something I should know?''

Mycroft leaned back and crossed his legs. ''I was - trying to replace - to get the feel of that man off of her; if he could be called such,'' he added. ''The research -''

''I've heard of something like that before, you don't have to explain. Quite a bold move though. Did it occur at all that you should've used protec-''

''I did. It didn't work. Obviously.'' It hadn't immediatly come to mind that the children might be his. This would make the second time he'd unintentionally gotten Molly pregnant. What are the odds? He could only imagine what Sherlock would say if he was here. At that thought, he felt a pang in his gut. His brother didn't even know he was an uncle. It was still too dangerous to communicate with him. What would he think? Mycroft had just went along with this trail of thought, while simultaneously thinking about the future, when a middle-aged doctor came up to them.

''DI Lestrade? The nurses told me you asked to be kept apprised of things?'' she asked, taking a peering look at the badge on his coat.

''Yes,''Greg stood quickly.

The doctor looked over at Mycroft. ''You are?''

Mycroft's mind seemed to stall. ''I'm -''

''He's with me,'' Greg said with a tone of finality.

''Well, she's more coherent now that the concussion's receeding -''

''Concussion?'' Mycroft asked worriedly, slowing standing from the chair.

''Yeah. She's got a pretty big goose egg on the back of her head; most likely from when she fell. Other than that, the C-section is the only thing she'll need to heal from ...''

Mycroft tuned out the doctor, mind splitting in two directions again. Just like before he was thinking of Molly and his brother, alternately and simultaneously. His phone had started vibrating again, this time in Morse code, something Anthea used strictly in life or death matters and he couldn't talk on the phone. The part of his brain focusing on the conversation with the doctor tuned out completely as the other side of his thoughts came to a screeching halt. He rewound the vibrating in his mind and played it back. Sherlock; assistance; code red. Code red was a tag reffering to his health and with the way the message came, it was serious.

He felt eyes on him and came back to the present conversation, noticing the doctor staring at him. ''What was that?''

The doctor wrinkled her nose and put a hand on her hip in annoyance. ''I asked if you would like to see the children.''

''Yes,'' Greg stepped forward. ''Thank you, Doctor, we know our way to the nursursy.'' He begun walking away, leaving the doctor to continue her rounds. Rounding a corner, he cut his eyes to Mycroft, and nodded to where the other man had put away his phone. ''So what was that about?''

''My brother,'' he stated monotonously. Shifting to the side to allow a woman being pushed in a wheel chair by, he made sure to whisper so their conversation wouldn't be heard. ''He's been injured. Badly.''

''Anyway to get help to him?'' Greg asked in concern.

''Not by me. While I do know plenty of private contractors, they all work for the government and I don't want anyone knowing Sherlock is alive just yet; there are still more things to be done before that can happen.'' He paused, walking slower. ''My only option ... is to contact Dr. Watson ... and tell him the truth. He's the only person Sherlock would trust and be able to help him.''

Greg seemed conflicted. ''Are you sure there's no other option? John took Sherlock's death really hard - you know that. Finding out he's alive ... it's not going to be just happy tears and hugs, he's gonna be pissed.''

''I'm aware, and unfortunately,'' Mycroft trailed off as he stopped in front of the viewing window of the NICU, ''there's no other way.'' Surveying the few occupied incubators in the room, he immediately spotted two red-headed infants a little further along from where they were standing. Taking a few more steps, he aligned himself to see the both of them; his daughter sleeping peacefully, his son, connected to wires leading to the machines around him. His eyes quickly found the wire for the heart monitor and stared at the line going up and down.

''Phoenix and Phyliappenia.''

Mycroft looked over at Greg sharply. The Detective Inspector's voice had came out in a harsh whisper, and he saw his eyes moisten with tears. Looking down at the name plate, he wondered if the name Molly had picked for their son was out of hope - he had flatlined twiced. He felt his own eyes well up and swallowed hard.

The shrill ring of a phone brought both men out of their stupor. Greg looked over at Mycroft pulling his phone out of his pocket and seen his eyes narrow menacingly at the display. ''Go. I'll watch them.''

Mycroft nodded in thanks, hit the talk button, and walked away for some privacy. Putting the phone up to his ear, he spoke through gritted teeth. ''Yes?''

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

The next few months were mostly a blur. Mycroft did more of his work from home - as he'd internally come to think of it; though, he thought Molly was coming to think of it more as a home as well. She'd really started to come out of the shell she'd coved for herself. He credited the A's with most of that, what with them learning to walk and more of their developmental skills showing. He definitely saw the same advanced learning abilities in them that he'd seen in Sherlock at that age. They kept Molly busy, and Mycroft was over-joyed when she started vocalizing to him in full sentences about all their activities when he did have to go into work.

Molly was still working at Bart's; Mike having agreed to allow both sets of twins to share her office. Mike's the one who gave the twins the nicknames of the A's and the P's - stating the the shared letter was covieneant and that it wasn't his fault Molly had made the girls names such a mouthful. He spoiled the four of them, though, right along with Greg and Anthea.

Speaking of Anthea, he felt his phone buzz an incoming text and pulled it out of his pocket. Funny hat-man and his Boswell have crossed the border. Ah, if Sherlock only knew of all the names Anthea called him behind his back, he thought. With any luck, this particular part of the operation would be in and out and both Sherlock and Dr. Watson would be able to leave the country without notice. This step was both crucial and sensitive, and could very well turn the stakes in their favor before things esculated into a full blown-out war with four countries. Mycroft rubbed the place on his jaw where John had punched him when he told him about Sherlock. It did seem worth it though; Sherlock's focus had resharpened and things didn't seem to be taking as long as they had been.

''Oooph.'' Mycroft looked down at the little girl sitting on his lap, an irritable look on her face. He took the stuffed toy she'd hit him with and smile at her. ''I'm sorry. Was I not paying attention? You'll have to forgive me, my mind wonders.'' Alexandrianna huffed at him, and he bit back a smile and continued with their game. He looked up when he heard Molly cooing again. She was changing Phoenix's diaper, his tiny hands trying to grab hold of the now-fixed gold chain around Molly's neck. Two ruby-red stones now adorned the necklace, alongside the emeralds, to signify the new additions to their family. Mycroft froze at that, staring transfixed at the necklace. It did signify his life, a family. Four little gems representing his children, hung delicately from Molly's neck, supporting them like a pillar. He never thought he'd have a family. Well, not this kind of family, at least.

Standing up, he sat his daughter down next to her brother and made his way to Molly. Wrapping his arms around her waist from behind - something he still to this day counted as a triumph - he rested his cheek against the side head. ''How about we eat dinner on the balcony tonight? Just the two of us?'' He felt the blush creep up into her cheeks as she mumbled an okay, and he turned to go to the kitchen to start the preperations. Yes, things had definitely gotten better in their lives, and he could just feel that this apartment - 122 A - would hold many more special memories for all of them.

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

Mycroft closed his laptop and started packing up, sighing. After three 'important' meetings and a Prime Minister to calm down, he was looking forward to getting home. He pulled on his vest and jacket and straighted his tie from where he'd loosened it earlier. As he was doing up the buttons, a knock sounded at the door. ''Yes?'' he called.

Anthea opened the door and peaked her head around. ''Sir. Someone to see you from the Prime Minister's office. He has a report with him,'' she said apologeticly.

Mycroft, in the most dignified manner he could manage, rolled his eyes. ''Thank you, Anthea, let him through.''

His PA shut the door softly behind her and he preoccupied himself with the buttons on his jacket when the door opened again. Finished, he looked up to see, not anyone he recognized from the Minister's office, but someone else.

''Good evening,'' he said cautiously, his mind deducing who this person must be like rapid-fire. ''If Mr. Miverlton has something to tell me, let him know he's just as welcome to tell me in person -'' The muzzle of the gun being pulled was the last thing he remembered.

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

''Evening, Molly.''

Molly looked up to see Greg walking toward her. ''Hi,'' she said. ''It's good to see you again. For the fourth time today. Are you trying to set a record for the most overworked dectective?''

''Yeah, that's what I feel like.'' He motioned to the four-seated stroller. ''Mind if I push? I thought I could walk you home.''

When she nodded her head, he put his hands on the handle bar and started pushing, keeping an even pace with Molly; even though his insides were jumping. He looked over at the woman beside him. With her hands resting on her protruding stomach as she walked, she looked the picture of motherhood. Seeing the glistening of the ring on her finger made his insides even jumpier. She'd come a long way from all those months ago; ages, it seemed. He and Anthea had been the only ones invited to the wedding. In fact, aside from them, and the bride and groom, the officiator had been the only other person in attendance. Sometime later, the news of a baby, still not intended but nevertheless a welcomed surprise, followed. He could see the spark back in her eyes and knew she was happy. He rued being the one to intruded upon that happiness.

''Mycroft was shot earlier,'' he said, before hastily adding, ''he's fine. Anthea gave me a bonus fact about Mycroft when she called. Apparently, those vest of his are bullet-proof.''

''Is he alright?''

Greg sighed, knowing she was now in full worry-mode. He'd tried to make light of it, hoping that by doing so she wouldn't be upset. He stopped with her when she looked back the way they came. Answering before she asked, he said, '' No, he's not at Bart's. Or any hospital for that matter. He insisted that he was fine and went home. Paramedics checked him on-scene, and besides for being winded and going to have a spectacular bruise in the morining, he wasn't hurt.'' Their walking had resumed, albeit, with faster steps than before. He saw her twisting the ring on her finger. ''He's alright, Molly. Really.''

They made it to the apartment in recorded time, by foot at least. Molly fumbled with the key at first, but the door opened before she could get it. Greg blinked, and the sight of Mycroft rubbing his hands soothingly down his wife's back appeared before his vision.

Mycroft scowled at Greg from over Molly's shoulder. ''You weren't to tell her.''

''Not tell, yeah? Enlighten me: just how were you going to explain the bruise and soreness?''

Mycroft huffed and gently moved himself and Molly out of the way so Greg could push the stoller in. Tea was made and the children put in their play-pen. Molly curled herself into Mycroft's side on the sofa, while Greg choose one of the chairs.

''So,'' Greg began. ''Do you know anything, yet? Who it was? Why?''

Mycroft secured his arm more securely around Molly. ''I know who order the hit, and most likely why. I can not however, prove it. At this point, it may just very well be better to let things play out. The longer I pretend to be ignorant, the more I might learn. I just need to ... lay and wait.''

Greg got a chill as he saw the gleam in Mycroft's eyes. He, almost, felt bad for whoever this person was.

''Until, then,'' Mycroft continued, ''security will be upgraded on all fronts. I assure you, my dear, I am fine.''

Molly had tucked herself closer to her husband's side, and Greg, realizing they would probably want to be alone, bid his goodbyes. ''Anything I can do, just call.''

Mycroft gently unwrapped himself from Molly to walk Greg to the door. ''Just keep your eyes and ears open. Sherlock is close to wrapping up things with what remains of the Moriarty network. You know the saying as well as I: when one door closes, another opens. Milverton, I believe, is that second door.''

''Milverton?''

''Trust me, the less involved you are the better. Don't even look him up; he'll know if you do. I'll deal with things. Just watch your back.''

''Yeah,'' Greg clapped Mycroft's shoulder before walking out. ''You, too.''

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

Mycroft quietly crept into the hospital room his wife was staying in, being mindful not to wake the two newborns resting near their mother. Tucking his phone back into his coat pocket, he sat down on the edge of the bed. Intwining their fingers, he raised her hand up to lightly graze a kiss against her knuckles. ''I've good news,'' he whispered.

Molly turned tired, but blissful, eyes to her husband. ''The man responsible for your getting shot has been taken care of?''

Mycroft sighed. ''My dear, I've asked that you not worry yourself over the matter. I am fine.''

''You could've been killed,'' she forces out, her voice strangled.

Turning on the bed so he could stretch out beside her, Mycroft simply held her close, reassuring her of his presence. They stayed in silence for a while before he spoke again. ''Sherlock is coming home.''

''Does he know? About ...'' she trailed off.

''I thought it best not to tell him of anything. I didn't want him to lose focus. I imagine he'll get quite the shock upon finding out that there is a Mrs. Watson now.''

''It'll be a lot for him to take in. How do you think he'll handle it?''

''Not quietly, I assure you,'' he muttered. ''Leave Sherlock to me,'' he said, after seeing her yawn. ''You need rest.''

''Stay with me?''

''Of course.'' Gently brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face, he kissed her temple and settled in more comfortably. Before closing his eyes, he glanced over at the two little babies - one in blue, the other in pink - making sure they were alright. ''Good night, Sherlock. Sweet dreams, Shylauniea.''

SH-SH-SH-SH-SH

(Present)

''Will you help me with this?''

Mycroft turned away from the mirror to look at Molly, her necklace in her hands. ''Of course,'' he said, finishing doing up his tie as he moved to her. Taking the necklace from her, he admirred the two new sapphire stones that now adorned it, before carefully clasping it around her neck. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and sighed into her shoulder. ''I know I was looking forward to him coming home, but for the foggiest of reasons I want my brother to leave - and he's not even here yet.''

Molly giggled. ''Well, maybe -'' she begun, but was interrupted by the doorbell. She raised a brow at him. ''Too late now.''

He lifted his head and let out an undignified groan. ''I'll get the door. Enjoy what few moment of peace you have left now.'' He could hear her laughing again as he exited the room, and took his own advise by taking a few deep breaths. Looking through the peephole, just to make sure, he reached for the handle.

''- quite surprised they named one of their children after you actually,'' said John. ''Sherlock. I thought you said that was a girl's name.''

Sherlock rolled his eyes. ''Shut up, John.''

Mycroft looked down and bit his lip to keep from laughing. He and Molly had agreed on naming their son after his uncle not just for tradition, but because Sherlock was special to them both. They may be a pain to each other, but they were each others pain and they loved each other in their own special way. He could already imagine the look on his brother's face should he ever divulge that bit of information, though. His last thought before opening the door was how some things just never change.


End file.
